


This One's Schedar

by Fridgewithwingss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, French Sirius Black, I've forgotten how to tag things?, M/M, Sirius is in Beauxbatons, Triwizard Tournament, not even fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29386659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fridgewithwingss/pseuds/Fridgewithwingss
Summary: There are times when Remus has to remind himself that he is, in fact, pleased that the Triwizard tournament is taking place while he is at Hogwarts. A high pitched giggle interrupts Remus’s fond recollection, and he slams his library book shut with more force than necessary. International wizarding cooperation, he thinks to himself, as he reminds himself of the value of the competition once more. He looks up, for what feels like the twentieth time in as many minutes, and directs a hostile glare at the source of the noise.(In which Sirius goes to Beauxbatons, and Remus just wants to write his transfiguration essay)
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 105





	This One's Schedar

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the TikTok, of a Tumblr Post, probably found on Pinterest, that caused me to write my first piece of fanfiction in over six years.
> 
> I am too old for this shite.
> 
> But I also may write more of this.

There are times when Remus has to remind himself that he is, in fact, pleased that the Triwizard tournament is taking place while he is at Hogwarts. That it is a historic event, and there were questions if it would go ahead this year after the manticore incident from the last competition. That it is a valuable opportunity to form international bonds, particularly as the werewolf restrictions were so much more lax in Bulgaria.

He was by no means the least pleased about the event in their friend group, most of the time. That particular label went to Peter who, the third time a Beauxbatons girl brushed him aside after a stuttered invite to Hogsmeade, had to face up to the chilling reality that his particular brand of stumbling socialisation was no better welcomed by French girls than the girls from Hogwarts. This took away the main appeal from the competition for him, and left him morose, indignant, and at times slightly xenophobic, muttering that the whole debacle would have been better cancelled. He had never, Remus reflects, handled rejection with dignity and aplomb.

James, of course, is the most excited, despite missing the age cutoff by an irritatingly close month. A long evening was spent in early October attempting to master locomotion charms. Fleamont had advised in response to James’s first frantic letter home that he had seen nobody successfully pass an age line, but he couldn’t see a need for a body to be physically close to the cup to place their name in. The efforts were soon shown to be a monumental waste of time when the first attempt at charming a slip of parchment, reading James Potter in neat block letters, bounced off an invisible forcefield surrounding the cup and hit Peter squarely in the eye. James replied with cheerful determination by first attempting to land his name in the cup with more muggle means and then, when this also failed, entertaining himself by flicking bits of parchment enchanted with permanent sticking charms onto the back of Snape’s robes as he exited the Great Hall from breakfast. He claimed that if Snape had hung around a little longer, he was accurate enough that he could have gotten the scraps of parchment to depict a crude image. This Remus does not doubt.

A high pitched giggle interrupts Remus’s fond recollection, and he slams his library book shut with more force than necessary. International wizarding cooperation, he thinks to himself, as he reminds himself of the value of the competition once more. He looks up, for what feels like the twentieth time in as many minutes, and directs a hostile glare at the source of the noise.

He can see, through the stacks, the seemingly omnipresent boy from Beauxbatons, currently interrupting his studies, as he has done approximately once a day for two weeks now. The boy is a stark contrast to the other French students Remus has seen in the halls- Generally prim and controlled, they walk through the halls in neat lines and appear to prefer a superior sneer to a smile. This one, however, seems different- As graceful as the rest, but apparently attempting to prove that no matter how casual his position, he can still seem elegant. At present, he is rocking back on two chair legs with his feet on the desk, his head lolling sideways as he shoots a raised eyebrow and half-smile at a blushing Ravenclaw, and looking no less than lithe while he does it. She giggles again, and Remus chalks the essay up to a bad job and sweeps the contents of his desk into his satchel.

Passing by the end of the shelves on his way out of the library, Remus allows himself one glance down at the boys table. As irritating as he finds him, Remus has to admit that he is nothing less than beautiful, with high cheekbones and fine black hair brushing his collar. He’s surprised to see the boy looking back, clear grey eyes levelled directly at where Remus’s path is taking him. Remus’s eyes widen, and the boy grins in a self-satisfied way that immediately grates on Remus’s nerves. His eyes narrow, and he stalks out of the library. Nobody sees him bare his teeth at Filch’s cat, conveniently sunning herself near the potions section, sending her shooting down the aisle where the boy sits. Nobody sees him grin, either, as the sound of chair legs slamming back down onto a stone floor echoes through the library, and Madam Pince rushes from behind the desk to find, and remove, the source of the disturbance.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Two days later, Remus settles himself at the Gryffindor table for lunch. His friends are already there, James eating with one hand and poking at a complicated looking quidditch diagram with his wand, making dashed lines and numbers wriggle nauseatingly across the page. Peter has his head buried on folded arms, and is grumbling quietly to himself.

“What’s up with him?” Remus asks over Peter’s back.

“Couldn’t rightly say, mate. He was like this when I got here” James replies, without looking up but a slight smile quirking the edge of his mouth.

“Very strange. Did you ask what was wrong?” Remus plays along, helping himself to mashed potatoes.

“I didn’t, no. Reckon I should have?”

“Yeah, maybe mate. Any idea what it could be?” Both boys are studiously ignoring the way Peter’s grumbling is increasing in volume steadily, and Remus decides that he really fancies the only plate of chicken that requires him to lean bodily over Peter, elbowing him in the ear as he does so.

“I did hear a rumour, from old Sturgis in seventh year. Said a Gryffindor lad tried to conjure a bunch of flowers for a Beauxbatons girl, but accidentally made nettles instead and stung all his hands.” James has looked up from his diagram now and is grinning at Remus.

“Couldn’t be our Pete, though. What do they say, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me… What do you call it when someone’s been fooled four times now?”

“Alright, alright!” Peter sits up, finally, still looking determinedly pissed off but with a slight smile, now. “A great idiot, is what you call it.”

“You should have tried to conjure a necklace or something, living things have never been your strong suit” Remus replies sympathetically.

“You should have tried to conjure a box of chocolates. At least then you would have had something to eat after you got rejected” James suggests helpfully, then ducks the bread roll Peter lobs at his head with a laugh. Remus watches, horrified, as it sails past and smacks soundly into a black head of hair from the Ravenclaw table. A head attached to a body wearing a powder blue waistcoat. A head belonging to the handsome Beauxbatons boy, who whirls round and immediately meets Remus’s eyes. They stare at each other for a long, tense second until James, who now has Peter in a headlock, knocks a full glass of pumpkin juice over Remus’s transfiguration essay that he has finally finished. By the time they’ve managed to siphon off the juice, and rewrite the paragraph that James accidentally vanishes in the process, the Beauxbatons boy, and the errant bread roll, has disappeared.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tucked into an alcove on the fourth floor, Remus scratches his head and regrets his life decisions as he surveys the star charts laid out in front of him. Taking divination as an owl was one thing, but barely a day goes by when he doesn’t wonder how James convinced him to take it at newt level, simply by virtue of wrapping one of his mother’s beaded scarves around his head and proclaiming that it is Remus’s destiny to take divination and, should he ignore the divine call, he would be shat on by birds every day for the rest of his life. The chart becomes no less confusing when a slightly squashed bread roll lands on top of cassiopeia.

“You dropped this, I think” comes a smooth, accented voice, and Remus looks up to see, unsurprisingly, the black haired Beauxbatons boy looming above the alcove. Remus is suddenly very aware of both the fact that they are in a very secluded corridor, and that the Beauxbatons duelling club is mandatory. Neither of these things are able to stop the next words that come out of his mouth.

“Technically, it was thrown.” He says. He wonders if he ever had a sense of self-preservation, or if it had left him recently. The boy raises an eyebrow. “Not by me!” Remus clarifies hurriedly. The boy laughs and, to Remus’s surprise, settles himself on the floor next to the alcove. Remus waits for him to speak but, when the boy just tilts his head back against the stone wall and lets his eyes close, he decides it is best to just wait out the strange encounter and goes back to studying his charts.

“What are you doing?” The boy asks a moment later, moving so that his cheek lies flat against the wall and peers curiously at the parchment.

“I’m supposed to be using the star charts to work out my date of death” Remus admits, moving his hand to his mouth to chew on a thumbnail. He must imagine the way the boy’s eyes track the movement.

“Nom de dieu” The boy mutters “How morbid. How long do you have left, then?”

“I think I’ve done it wrong. Apparently I died last Wednesday” Remus scratches his head with the end of his quill, and the boy laughs.

“Well, you’re the most solid looking ghost I’ve ever seen. Are all Hogwarts assignments like this?”

“Just for the subjects that make no sense” Remus frowns, and scratches out a few sums, mostly for something to do with his hands. The boy laughs again.

“Sirius” the boy says, and Remus tilts his head, looking at the star he just labelled.

“No, I’m pretty sure this one’s Schedar”, He mumbles, looking up when he hears a snort. The boy has his hand out and Remus, one unintelligent comment too late, realises he’s receiving an introduction, and feels his face flush. “Oh, sorry. Remus”. When they shake, Sirius uses Remus’s hand to pull himself to his feet and squeezes his frame into the too-small alcove. He tugs on a corner of the parchment, until the star map covers both of their laps, and draws Remus’s quill slowly through his fingers, the vane tickling his knuckles.

“Let’s see if we can work out how to extend your lifespan long enough for you to tell me how you ended up with a name nearly as ridiculous as mine, hmm?”


End file.
